Guppie
by Shostakovich
Summary: Death Sentence: Joe's coat didn't always belong to Joe. Before it was his, it was Guppie's, and she'll do anything to get it back. Anything.


So I feel very badly, because my attention span for stories is very low right now, and I have 4 other stories I really want to keep working on but I just love the characters in this story. So I started it. Sorry to anyone who's reading my other current-ish stuff— more coming soon.

I've taken to writing shorter opening chapters, so this is relatively short compared to my usual chapter lengths, I believe. At any rate, please enjoy!

* * *

. . .

**Guppie**

_1: Not That Bad_

. . .

The coat actually wasn't that bad.

Guppie usually had terrible taste, which wasn't at all helped by the vintage clothing store they both worked at.

But occasionally, she picked out something that Bridget could appreciate. There was that pair of black and pink high-heeled boots, and the pleated gray miniskirt with black pleather trim. And who could forget the kelly green push-up bra, worn specially under the navy blue fishnet top.

Well, maybe Bridget wasn't really appreciative of the kelly green bra, but guys sure were. It had landed her Lawrence Mazzotta in one night, and Pam had been trying to get his attention for weeks.

Maybe there was something to be said about famously bad fashion sense.

But watching Guppie pose in front of the full-length mirror, Bridget had to roll her eyes.

Guppie had on the dark red leather jacket.

She also had on a blue and white floral minidress with a pair of silver Doc Martens boots, a big yellow barrette, and giant white hoop earrings. The red jacket clashed like nothing else.

But the coat, on its own, wasn't that bad.

. . .

* * *

. . .

"Bridge, I'm going for coffee. Want anything?"

Bridget glanced up from the computer. "Huh? Oh, sure." She bit her lip, frowning at her game of solitaire, before remembering that she needed to give Guppie an answer. "Uh, get me a large iced coffee. Black. The usual."

"Kay. Bye."

The bell tinkled as Guppie shoved the door open to leave. "Bye," Bridget called. She clicked again on the pile, and again. The pile ran out. "Damn."

Bridget jumped up and stretched. Her shirt rode up on her stomach, but she didn't mind until the door banged open again.

She spun and stifled a gasp. She coughed a few times before forcing a smile and smoothing down her shirt.

"Hi, can I help you?"

The guy standing in the doorway shook his head curtly. His eyes cut a path through the store until he was staring at Bridget's hip. She shifted uncomfortably, and he glanced up at her face. She quickly looked away from his unintentional glare, but glanced up nervously. She wasn't used to dealing with people like him, not to mention that he was more than half a foot taller than her.

"How much for that jacket?"

Bridget looked around, frowning. "What jacket?"

"On the chair."

He meant Guppie's coat, she assumed, since it was the only one on the only chair. "Oh, that's not for sale. It's Guppie's." She was supremely confident Guppie would murder her if she said anything else. The guy's eyes narrowed.

"Who's Guppie?"

"Oh, she works here." Bridget moved out from behind the desk and twisted her arms together behind her back. "She already claimed it," she said cheerfully, trying to lessen the tension. "It's her new baby."

He wasn't amused. He pushed up the sleeves on his gray shirt, baring muscular forearms featuring creeping black tattoos. Bridget couldn't help but stare, even though the urge to look back at his face was almost overwhelming. Eventually she did look back at him, and he was smirking.

"I'll make it worth your while," he said, his voice low. He strode towards her, and her heart rate increased dramatically.

Bridget swallowed. "Um. I can't, really," she started. He pulled out a wallet from his pocket and counted out five ten-dollar bills. "Really." But her voice was weak.

He dangled the fifty bucks in front of her face. It was hard to not stare cross-eyed at it. And then it was gone, he was pressed flush up against her, and his hand was snaking into her back pocket before she caught her breath.

"Think you can make an exception?"

She nodded as infinitesimally as possible. He leaned down and whispered thanks, then sucked lightly on the hollow behind her ear. His hand lingered in her back pocket.

When he pulled away, he was holding the leather coat. He looked at the price tag hanging from the pocket, then counted out another five tens from his wallet. He tossed it onto the desk, on the keyboard, and turned to leave.

"Keep the change," he said.

He was out the door before Bridget could say anything. She collapsed back in the chair, trying to catch her breath. She stared at the computer screen where a little white box offered a new game of solitaire. She saw the reflection of her red face and quickly looked away.

All of a sudden, Bridget Patrick found herself to be a lot more interested in a two-person game.


End file.
